


Comeshot

by CourierNinetyTwo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bondage, F/F, Gunplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 06:37:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7628860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourierNinetyTwo/pseuds/CourierNinetyTwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A younger Mercy fantasizes about a certain sniper and her rifle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comeshot

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by bl4ckwatch's text post: "younger angela most definitely had the fantasy of being on her knees in front of ana, with ana casually using her naked body as a rifle stand"

“Keep still and quiet, _ya rouhi_.”

The endearment rolled off Ana’s tongue like the crisp snap of a gun’s hammer, but the order was cold as steel. Cold like the rifle barrel bearing down on Angela’s shoulder, the square edge of its magazine stamping a mark against her skin. Not that there was much slack for her to move in the first place, the clever rope harness wrapped tight around both breasts looping around her arms and back again, bound all together by a knot at each wrist.

When she shifted – barely, by centimeters, not wanting to disrupt Ana as she lined up a shot – the cord threatened to scratch, woven to be tough rather than comfortable. It had come out of the soldier’s black bag, far from regulation issue, but Ana insisted there were plenty of reasons to keep a coil of rope around on the field; Angela just hadn’t bargained on this being one of them.

“Shame you can’t help me judge the wind from here.” A laugh rasped from Ana’s throat, low and smoky. “Although I can tell the humidity well enough.”

Before Angela could offer up any reply, Ana’s thigh pushed up an inch, and with it wedged so tightly between her own, there was nothing she could do but keep her knees spread wide. The friction of reinforced fabric against Angela’s folds and constant pressure from the flexed muscle underneath left her aching and wet, biting her lip to stifle a disruptive moan.

A breeze from outside sent the canvas tent around them fluttering, every snap of it in the air threatening to make Angela jerk straight up. The wind itself was hot, no relief from the sweat gathered at the nape of her neck, each drop that trickled down between her shoulder blade’s pricking like a needle’s sting. Or perhaps a sharpened stick, considering that she was caught in the nest of the shrike herself.

Not impaled quite yet, but Angela suspected Ana would get there soon enough.

“Twenty-five hundred meters. Do you think I can make the shot?” Ana’s voice was dry with amusement but perfectly even – unshakable. “You can’t jump when I pull the trigger.”

Angela swallowed hard past a knot in her throat, suddenly fearing that she would do just that. Her next breath felt tight, a whimper catching in Angela’s throat as Ana braced the heel of her boot against the floor, stealing enough leverage to rock her thigh without jostling their position. The constant rubbing was centered right on her clit and Angela couldn’t stop a moan from escaping between clenched teeth, desperate to either relieve the ache in her knees or the need coiling deep in her body, giving every heartbeat a distant echo.

“Shh.” The single syllable was sharp, cracking down like a whip, and Angela barely suppressed a wince.

Focusing on her breathing was the only way to center herself, but every belly-deep inhale pulled at lower muscles, and Angela’s hands clenched into fists against her back, fighting every urge to buck her hips against Ana’s thigh. She heard the soft creak of leather, Ana’s glove slipping from the guard to the trigger.

She held her breath.

Heat blossomed across Angela’s shoulder as the bullet exploded down the barrel, flying past the open face of the nest and cutting through the horizon. The crack of the shot was almost deafening, leaving a haze spiraling through her head before she heard a triumphant, “Target down.”

A ragged gasp tore from Angela’s throat, gulping down air, and she barely registered the weight of the rifle lifting from her shoulder before powerful hands found her hips and gripped tight. Ana’s thigh pushed hard between her legs, the hold guiding Angela back and forth until there was a slick mess staining the soldier’s trousers, arousal and sweat smeared across Angela’s skin like a heady musk.

“Good girl.” Ana whispered, her voice closer now, hot against Angela’s ear. Everything was heat and tension now, seizing her in a tighter bondage than the ropes. “Come for me.”

The last thread of resistance she had snapped at that growled demand, and Angela cried out, riding out her release as that iron-strong, leather-clad grip kept her in constant contact with the press of Ana’s thigh. One wave of pleasure collapsed into another, spurred on by that relentless friction until she was arching and twisting against her restraints, needy little jerks of Angela’s hips carrying her through the aftershocks.

When she was spent, body about to slump down towards the floor, Ana’s arm snaked around Angela’s ribs and drew her back up, keeping her firmly in the older woman’s lap. Panting and wide-eyed, Angela could only look up to that dark gaze for approval, and she found it in a knowing smile.

**Author's Note:**

> To clarify, the original prompt was a fantasy. Don’t let older women tie you up and use you as a rifle stand, you’ll lose an eardrum. ;)


End file.
